


star of wonder, star of night

by blueblueelectricblue



Series: a star spinning in orbit, lighting up the sky [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Diapers, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 13:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueblueelectricblue/pseuds/blueblueelectricblue
Summary: StevelovesChristmas, and it's the first they're celebrating together - just the two of them - since 1941, before a newly-enlisted Bucky shipped out to boot camp in the new year, so Steve's determined to make this one count. So is Bucky, who has a truly ridiculous number of presents hidden around the apartment for bigandlittle Steve. But the best part of it all, more than the food or the TV specials or the holiday music or the gifts, is that they're with each other.(Or, the one I meant to be a Christmas in July story, but real life got in the way and it's now a Christmas in August story.)





	star of wonder, star of night

Steve loves Christmas — as in, he _really_ loves it. It’s always been his favorite holiday, and he is over-the-top excited for it this year. And he doesn’t care who knows. It’s _the best_.

Even when there was not much else going on in his life that he could categorize as “good,” there was always Christmas to look forward to. His ma could never afford to have a big splashy celebration like so many families, but then, that wasn’t her style anyway. They didn’t bother with a tree — too much of a fire hazard, since they lived in a tenement building with no electricity and thus relied on gas lamps and candles — but Sarah Rogers always made sure that the stockings were hung up on the shelf with his dad’s medals and framed photo by Christmas Eve, and that Steve’s had a gift in it on Christmas morning. Steve, in turn, would spend all year saving up the pocket money he’d earn from running errands or babysitting to put something in hers, even if it was just little stuff like a new compact mirror and brush set or a box of her favorite chocolates.

Then they’d meet up with the Barnes family at Mass and when she would go to work right after, Steve would walk to their house with them. They always, _always_ made sure that Steve had a present of his own to open along with everyone else, but that was very like George and Winifred, whose home was open to all who would enter it. (Mrs. Barnes never failed to send him home with enough food for him and his ma for the next three days, either.) Even during the war, when Steve and the Howling Commandos spent two straight Christmases freezing their asses off out in the field with K-rations and a bottle of rotgut whiskey, they were still special in a way — because he was with people he cared about. That’s really what he loves best about the holiday; the trappings don’t matter much as long as he has loved ones to share it with.

Consequently, the first few of them after he’d woken up in the 21st century had been less than ideal. Not knowing what else do with himself, Steve had simply shown up at the nearest shelter for homeless veterans and picked up a ladle — just like he’d done for the first few Thanksgivings. But last year, Sam and his family had invited Steve and Bucky to Thanksgiving dinner, which had kept the awkwardness of their being alone together on the holiday at a minimum; learning to live with one another was still new and not a little weird. Then Clint and Laura had asked them over for Christmas, where their (and Natasha’s) presence had done the same. Now all of that has passed and they’re totally comfortable around each other again, and this year? Steve is _ready_.

By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, Steve might even be a little bit _too _ready, if you ask Bucky. Which he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to hear what Bucky has to say about that.

“You know, if you keep eating that, we’re not gonna have enough for the tree,” Steve informs Bucky.

Bucky shovels more popcorn into his mouth. “Steve, we don’t have enough room for another garland anyway.”

“Yes, we do!”

Bucky tilts his head as if to get a better look at the tree, a monstrous Douglas fir that Steve had insisted on them cutting down with a borrowed handsaw at a tree farm way the hell out in Winchester and hauling back to their Dupont Circle apartment tied to the roof of their rental car. Bucky had wanted to get a reasonably-sized fake tree from Costco, but he gave up after Steve’s relentless campaign in the form of pointing out real trees almost everywhere they went combined with straight-up begging for one of their own over the past month.

It’s a lovely tree; at least, what can be seen of it is.

“Steve. You’ve added so many ornaments and lights and tinsel and popcorn over the past three days that it’s a miracle the thing is still standing, and you haven’t even gotten to the star yet.”

“That’s because it’s not done yet.”

Bucky grabs another enormous handful of popcorn and munches on it almost defiantly.

“I’m gonna have to make another bag now,” Steve complains.

Bucky grins.

“What?”

“We’re out. That was it.”

“That’s not possible. We just opened the box yesterday.”

“Well, it is. Go into the pantry and see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Steve does. It takes him a few minutes to search because he is not well acquainted with the pantry unless it’s to raid the big plastic jar of peanut-butter-filled pretzels.

“Bucky, goddammit!” are his first words upon reentering the living room.

“What?” Bucky asks innocently.

“We’d still have enough if you hadn’t eaten half of it.”

“There’s still some left.” He points at the bowl, which is now mostly composed of unpopped kernels.

Steve rolls his eyes. He knows Bucky’s right and that their tree has far too many decorations on it already, but he just can’t help being excited for their first real Christmas together since 1941. Maybe next year they’ll even get _two_ trees, he thinks, but does not voice the thought. Not yet, anyway.

“C’mon, let’s wrap things up here,” Bucky says. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“So much for the holiday spirit.”

“I have plenty of holiday spirit, Steve. I also have plenty of not-wanting-the-chicken-to-burn spirit. And _you_ won’t have any holiday spirit if it burns, because _you_ will have a hangry spirit instead.”

“…I think if you say ‘spirit’ one more time my brain’s gonna explode.”

Bucky laughs and hooks his fingers into one of Steve’s belt loops, tugging him closer for a popcorn-scented kiss. “Why don’t we put the star on together and call it good?”

“Okay,” Steve concedes, but only after Bucky kisses him a few more times.

The dinner Bucky has put together is deceptively simple — roast chicken with pan gravy, mashed potatoes, and a green salad — but he’s perfected it over the past several months, and now it’s one of Steve’s favorite meals. Amazing what Bucky can do with just a few ingredients, really, considering when they were kids he could barely manage to put together a sandwich without almost burning down the house. Besides, tomorrow is more suited to the decadence of holiday food anyway. They eat in the kitchen as usual, with the radio playing Christmas music, but take their coffee and fruitcake into the living room to munch on while they watch the first of several television specials that Sam had insisted they DVR because they’re apparently classics that cannot be missed.

“I still can’t believe you made this, it’s so good,” Steve says in between bites. “Nothing like the ones SHIELD gave out every year.”

Bucky pauses, his fork hovering mid-air. “SHIELD gave out fruitcakes for Christmas every year?”

“Yeah.”

“And it _still_ wasn’t obvious to you that SHIELD was HYDRA?”

They both crack up.

Bucky’s fruitcake _is_ actually very good, more alcohol-soaked glacé fruits and assorted nuts than cake. (Although the cake part isn’t bad either, since Bucky had spiced it heavily with cinnamon and nutmeg.) He’d baked it all the way back in September, wrapped it in cheesecloth, and doused the whole thing with a few splashes of brandy every week to keep it moist. Bucky had actually made two, because he is not capable of cooking or baking in what most people would consider reasonable quantities, but there’s always Sam’s New Year’s Eve party they can bring it to. Might as well lean into the senior-citizen jokes from the other Avengers if they’re going to keep making them, right?

Mugs and plates set aside on the coffee table, they curl up on the sofa together to finish the rest of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_, which Steve has to admit is pretty funny, and go right to _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_, which is less so (the Island of Misfit Toys is surprisingly affecting, and also something Steve decides he doesn’t want to see again next year). The stop-motion animation is neat, though. Steve can never get enough of all the different ways people make movies.

Steve glances at the cable box when Bucky’s fast-forwarding through a commercial and realizes it’s getting late and they’d never really come to a decision after talking about it briefly last week. “Hey, Buck. Did you still want to go to midnight Mass?”

“I dunno. Do you?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno either.”

“Feels kinda disingenuous, you know?” Bucky says. “I stopped going before I enlisted.”

“And your mom was _beside_ herself,” Steve reminds him.

“I seem to remember her having Fr. Mulcahy over for dinner a lot more often than usual before I shipped out.” He grins.

“She did,” he confirms. “I haven’t been to Mass since…I dunno. I went a few times after they woke me up, but it didn’t feel right. I just thought it’d be nice to go for a midnight service, with the poinsettias and choir and stuff.”

“But now?”

“Now I think it’d be nice to stay home with you.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Bucky snags Steve’s shirt collar and pulls him close for a kiss.

They never do find out how _Rudolph _ends.

\--

The next morning, Steve’s surprised to find that for once, he isn’t the first one out of bed. That honor belongs to Bucky, who materializes not long after Steve blinks the sleep out of his eyes, bearing a tray with two mugs and a fresh pot of coffee.

“Thanks, Bucky,” Steve says, and takes the tray from him to pour them each some coffee as Bucky gets settled back under the covers.

“Thought we could hang out in here for awhile,” Bucky explains, taking the mug Steve gives him with an expression of love and gratitude that Steve is like, ninety percent sure he’s directing at the coffee itself.

“Well, it’s not like we have anyplace to be.”

“Not unless Doctor Doom or that Zemo dork tries something. But even they take days off, right?”

Steve cracks a grin over the rim of his own mug. “Yeah, sometimes evil takes a holiday too.”

“Thank god, because I’d _really_ be pissed if I had to eat all that prime rib by myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Bucky agrees cheerfully.

Steve bumps his shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“You want to do breakfast and then gifts? Or gifts and then breakfast?”

Bucky thinks about it over a few more sips of coffee. “Breakfast, then gifts is probably for the best.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘for the best’?”

“You’ll thank me for it later.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Nah.” It’s Bucky’s turn to bump Steve’s shoulder. “It’s just that we’ll be able to focus better if we’re not hungry.”

“I somehow feel like this is less of a ‘we’ situation than it is a ‘Steve’ situation.”

Bucky just smiles.

They work their way through the entire pot of coffee before deigning to set foot out of bed, mostly so they can get another pot going to drink while Bucky makes a huge stack of blueberry pancakes. Steve manages to cook the bacon without burning it, mostly because it involves simply putting the bacon on a foil-lined sheet pan and sticking it into the oven for twenty minutes, but it’s a victory that he’ll take.

After they’re done eating and the dishes have all been put in the sink to worry about later, Bucky finds a TV station playing a burning Yule log on a loop that he can leave on while they exchange gifts, just for fun. It had been hard to not go overboard buying presents for Bucky, but Steve had reined in his more impulsive side for just long enough to remember that their apartment is large — only not large enough to contain an infinite number of objects, as Steve had found out when he ran out of hiding spaces for them. He’s definitely way more excited to watch Bucky open his gifts than about getting any, because getting to know each other again over the past year has made things so much easier on that front.

It's still a pretty big pile of wrapped gifts in front of their tree, though, because Bucky had evidently had the same problem when it came to buying for Steve. At one point, he’d emerged from the spare bedroom half-annoyed, half-amused because Steve had “stolen” the spot he’d been planning to use by putting a (thankfully still sealed) Amazon box on the top shelf of the closet. Steve has no idea where he _did_ manage to hide it, since he never came across the shopping bag again.

“You want any more coffee?” Bucky asks.

“Nah, I think I’m good. You?”

“I’m good.” Bucky plants a kiss on Steve’s jaw, just in front of his ear. “You wanna sit on the floor and open gifts like when we were kids?”

The memory makes him smile; Bucky’s sisters were chaos incarnate on Christmas morning, having been made to wait until after Mass to tear into their presents. “Sure.”

“You first,” Bucky says once they’re seated in front of the tree, facing each other, and hands him a slim box wrapped in the same gold paper with green ribbons he’d used for everything else.

Steve opens it to find a pair of navy-colored winter gloves made of what looks like leather but isn’t, as he finds out when he puts them on and discovers that although they’re incredibly thin and flexible, they’re also incredibly warm. _Much_ warmer than leather, or microfleece, or anything else he’s ever owned.

“These are great, Buck, thank you!”

Bucky fairly beams. “I had Tony make them. They’re good for temperatures up to -50 Celsius.”

“And he agreed?”

“Yeah, he said he was tired of you bitching about how cold you are with those fingerless gloves you wear with the Cap uniform.”

Steve laughs. “I can see that.” He picks up a heavy box from his pile for Bucky, all wrapped in blue paper with snowflakes and the occasional silver bow. “Now you.”

The hefty price tag is totally justified when Steve catches the look on Bucky’s face as he discovers that he’s opened a 23-piece set of Shun kitchen knives, complete with a positively enormous bamboo knife block.

“Holy _fuck_, Steve,” he breathes when he reacquires the capacity to speak. “These are…Wow.”

“I thought you could use an upgrade,” Steve explains. Bucky’s been complaining about Steve’s Ikea knives for what feels like a zillion years now.

Bucky closes the gap between them to kiss him. “This is incredible. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve ruffles Bucky’s hair before letting him go.

“Your turn again,” Bucky says and hands him another box.

This one contains a large set of Sennelier oil pastels, oil pastel fixative, and then the third box Steve’s given turns out to be several large spiral-bound pastel pads. Bucky opens his autographed first-edition _Cosmos_ by Carl Sagan with undisguised glee, as he does with cookbooks by Kevin Pang, J. Kenji López-Alt, and Ina Garten. Steve also receives books from Bucky: the new _Odyssey _translation by Emily Wilson, a pulp noir compilation (Steve had been a fiend for trashy crime magazines as a kid), and a book about New York City during WWI. Next, Bucky laughs for a full two minutes at the several pairs of pajama pants with ridiculous prints that Steve’s bought for him — ice-skating bears, confused-looking penguins, and happy-faced sushi rolls.

The clean-up from the gifts is significantly less fun than the opening of them, but at least it only takes a minute to crumple up all the paper and stuff it into their recycling bin, and soon both Steve and Bucky are ensconced on opposite ends of the sofa with a new book in hand. Eventually Bucky gets up and wanders into the kitchen to do some dinner prep, but he goes right back to reading once he’s done, burrowing under one of the several blankets draped over the back of the sofa and balancing the book on his knees.

Steve doesn’t realize how stiff he’s gotten until he finally gets up to use the bathroom, and when he comes back, he says, “Hey, do you want to go for a walk?”

“What time’s it?”

“Just past two.”

“Yeah, sure, why not? Sounds nice. I wasn’t gonna start dinner until four anyway.” Bucky reaches over to swipe a Chinese takeout menu from the coffee table to use as a bookmark.

Steve hadn’t expected so many people to be out and about, but it’s still a lot fewer than usual for a Monday, and they enjoy a leisurely walk through the city, going even as far as the National Mall. The day is bright and cold, although bundled up as they are — and with Steve’s new gloves on — they hardly feel it. Steve is almost sorry when they start heading back home, but not _that_ sorry, because he’s also starting to get hungry again. Fortunately, Bucky has already anticipated that; last night, he’d prepped a platter of cheese and charcuterie to be munched on while dinner is in the oven.

“Do you wanna watch some TV? I think we still have a couple of those specials Sam told us to DVR.” Bucky asks, swiping a piece of soppressata from the plate.

“Yeah, we do.” Steve turns on the TV and starts going through their recordings. “We have _Frosty the Snowman_, _Mickey’s Christmas Carol_, _A Charlie Brown Christmas_, and _The Year Without a Santa Claus_.”

“Jesus Christ, how many Christmas specials _are_ there?” Bucky immediately whips out his phone to answer the question for himself, as he frequently does, being too impatient to wait for someone else. “Holy shit,” he says after a minute.

“What?”

“Steve. _Steve. _There are literally hundreds.”

“That’s like, seventy years’ worth, though,” he points out. “Plus, Lifetime’s gotta be skewing that number pretty high.”

Bucky just shakes his head in bewilderment and puts his phone away.

“Anyway, which one do you wanna watch?”

“Charlie Brown, I guess.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why not? I love that depressed little bald-headed kid.”

It turns out to be a good way to spend half an hour, Bucky occasionally tapping along to the rhythm of the songs with his foot against the coffee table and poking Steve in the shoulder every time Linus and his blanket show up and stealing like, _all _the sharp provolone and only letting Steve have a couple of pieces. (“Steve, you just ate every piece of prosciutto I put out and I didn’t get _any_.”)

“Is dinner almost ready?” Steve asks once the show is over; he exits from the screen but doesn’t delete it.

Bucky rolls his eyes affectionately. “No. We’ve got another hour or so.”

“Seriously?”

“….just how long do you think it takes to cook six pounds of prime rib, Steve?”

“I dunno, you’re cooking it, not me.”

“15 minutes per pound, and then 20 minutes to let it rest, if you still want it medium-rare.”

“I would _hope _you’re not gonna roast it to a crisp, Buck.”

Bucky ignores it. “I thought while it’s resting, I’d put the garlic bread and asparagus in.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He thinks for a moment. “Mix up the horseradish sauce?”

“How complicated is that?”

“It’s just four ingredients.”

“Oh. That’s all?”

“Yeah. Recipe’s bookmarked on the kitchen table.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Nah, it can wait.”

“So…do we want to watch more TV?”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

Steve grins. “I can think of a _few_ something elses, actually.”

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

Fortunately, Bucky remembers to set a timer on his phone loud enough to be heard amidst all the something elses, and so dinner does not overcook. As a matter of fact, it turns out beautifully, and Steve does not fuck up the horseradish sauce. He even actually manages to take a few photos for Instagram before digging in, although the actual posting takes place after they’re done eating, because who has time for that when food is sitting right there in front of him waiting to be consumed?

“I think I finally understand the whole food-coma thing,” Steve says after they’ve gotten everything cleaned up and put away. “I want to sleep for like, a week.”

Bucky grins. “So what you’re saying is, it was good?”

“It was _amazing_. Can you make that again sometime?”

“Definitely. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out too. You wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah, why not?”

After much browsing and not a little debate, they settle on _The Mummy_, because Bucky’s never seen it and Steve could always stand to watch it again. They’d seen the original one with Boris Karloff back when it came out and scared them half to death. (Steve’s ma had had zero sympathy for him, pointing out he’d known what he was getting into when he bought the ticket. Mrs. Barnes had just laughed at Bucky when he’d come tearing into the house like the mummy was actually chasing him.) Steve starts out sitting about three feet away from Bucky on the sofa, but by the time the ten plagues show up, they’re practically entwined — not because it’s scary, but because it’s cozy and comfortable and they still can’t get enough of one another.

Steve gets so comfortable, in fact, that when Bucky grabs the remote to pause the movie and starts to get up, he complains, “_Daddyyyyyy_,” without even realizing what he’s just said.

“Oh, stop fussing, I’ll be right back.” Daddy ruffles Steve’s hair. “Actually, why don’t you come with me? We could probably both use a potty break.”

“Don’t need to,” Steve answers immediately, even though when he thinks about it, he _does_ need to go.

“Too bad. If I’m going, you’re going.” Before he can squirm away, Daddy’s got Steve settled on his hip.

“Hey! No!” he protests, but without any real heat behind his words. It feels nice to be carried to their bathroom in Daddy’s strong arms.

Daddy plants a noisy, smacking kiss on his cheek and sets him down. “You first, kiddo.”

Steve obeys without further complaint, because he actually _really_ needs to go, and he washes his hands afterward without being prompted, while Daddy goes and then washes his hands too.

“Can, um, can I put on my jammies now?” Steve wants to know. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, but pajamas are obviously the most comfortable he can possibly ever be, and Steve would live in them if he could.

“That sounds like a great idea, Stevie,” Daddy says with a smile that makes Steve feel like a toasted marshmallow inside. “Which ones do you want to wear?”

“Lion kigurumi,” he decides, even though it means he’s going to be extra-little. Steve doesn’t feel like trying to be bigger anyway.

“Why don’t you pick out a diaper while I get your kigurumi?”

Steve nods and makes a beeline for the dresser where they keep all his little stuff, coming up with one of his favorite shooting-star patterned diapers. Daddy eventually emerges from the closet with Steve’s lion onesie, looking triumphant.

“Be right back, sunshine,” Daddy says, and while he’s gone Steve gets out the changing pad and baby powder, then sits down on the bed to wait. He comes back with the polar bear pajama pants Steve got him.

“You’re gonna wear those?” he asks, pleased as punch at the idea.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for an excuse to put them on all day,” Daddy says and grins. “C’mon, let’s get ourselves nice and comfy so we can finish the movie.”

Steve insists on undressing himself and putting his clothes in the laundry basket, but he’s more than happy to lie down on the changing pad and let Daddy diaper and then dress him. Daddy, for his part, simply swaps out his track pants for the pajama pants, which he says are even softer than he’d thought; Steve beams with pride at having picked out such a good present. Then Daddy carries Steve back out to the living room, but not before he’s retrieved a pacifier and his favorite blanket, and they settle on the sofa with Steve in Daddy’s lap to finish out the movie.

Daddy pats Steve’s thigh when the credits start rolling to get his attention. “Hey, buddy, can you get up for a sec?”

“Don’t need a change, Daddy,” Steve informs him, and it is, in fact, true for once.

“That’s not why I need you to get up. I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?”

“’kay.” Steve obliges, but he takes the opportunity to steal Daddy’s seat, rearranging his blanket so that it’s around his shoulders now.

When Daddy comes back, Steve’s astonished to see that he’s got a bunch of gifts in his arms, which he sets down on the coffee table one by one. They’re not wrapped in green like before, but rather in bright Sesame Street paper and adorned with different-colored bows instead of complicated ribbons. He must look as surprised as he feels, because Daddy melts into a fond smile and bends down to ruffle Steve’s hair.

“Yes, these are for you,” Daddy tells him before Steve can open his mouth.

“But you already got me presents,” he can’t help pointing out.

“Those were grown-up presents..” Daddy sits down on the sofa next to him and plucks a big one from the pile, then a smaller one. “Go ahead, kiddo. These go together, so open the big one first.”

Steve tears into the wrapping, revealing a sandbox with some castle and sea creature molds. The next box, which is smaller but still pretty heavy, contains four bags of kinetic sand in blue, purple, green, and red. He’s not really sure what kinetic sand actually _is_, but it looks like fun anyway.

“I saw a display at Barston’s and thought you might like it,” Daddy says. “It won’t get everywhere like regular sand, and you can mold it without needing water.”

“Oh!” That makes sense. “Thank you, Daddy, it’s neat!”

“It is neat,” he agrees and sets the bags of sand aside to hand Steve another wrapped box.

This one is a Lego set of New York City — the Flatiron Building, Chrysler Building, Empire State Building, and One World Trade Center — and Steve bounces in his seat with delight. Playing Lego is fun even when he’s a grown-up, but he likes to have the help from Daddy when he’s not. The next box is another Lego set, this time the United Nations headquarters building. It looks like it might be hard, but Steve’s got a long vacation ahead of him and therefore plenty of time to build it. Not that he wants to wait, though.

“Can we start now?” he wants to know.

Daddy laughs. “Why don’t you open your other presents first and then we’ll see?”

“Okay.”

Daddy passes him a squat cylinder, which is light but full of soft fabric blocks, cubes of all different colors and sizes and textures. Steve can’t help but giggle when he gives one a squeeze and it crackles like a plastic bag.

“Not all of them have insides that make sounds, but a lot of them do,” Daddy explains.

Steve picks up another cube, which rattles faintly with the motion of his hand, so he shakes it harder and giggles again. Another block must have a jingle bell sewn into it from the way it rings when he passes it back and forth between his hands, and a fourth squeaks when he squeezes it. Steve has the feeling that these are probably for babies, but they are _so cool_ that he finds he doesn’t much care. And after all, sometimes he _does_ feel a little babyish, and Daddy doesn’t mind that one bit. Steve knows because he’s said so more than once, and Daddy always means what he says.

The next gifts Steve opens are more books: a pop-up cardboard book about space with a button on the cover that makes a noise like a rocket blasting off when he pushes it; several by Maurice Sendak; _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and _James and the Giant Peach_ by Roald Dahl, a _Frog and Toad_ compendium; _A Bear Called Paddington_; _The Day the Crayons Quit_; and one called _I Want My Hat Back_, which has a rather exasperated-looking bear on the cover and makes him laugh when he sees it. But they all look wonderful, and Steve can’t wait to snuggle up with Daddy and read each and every one.

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you so much,” he says when everything’s been opened, and throws his arms around Daddy’s neck to hug him.

Daddy hugs him back, extra-tight — just the way they both like to be hugged. “You’re welcome, Stevie. I’m glad you like everything.”

“I _love_ it,” Steve tells him. “Can we play Legos now?”

“Sure, we can play for a little while, but let’s get all this wrapping paper into the recycling bin first. Can you help me do that?”

“Yuh-huh.” Steve sweeps the trash into an armful, and Daddy supervises as he goes to the kitchen and stuffs it all into the blue recycling bin in the corner, next to the trash can.

“Great job, buddy!” Daddy pats him on the shoulder. “You want some water?”

“Yes, please.”

Daddy pours himself a glass of ice water and then fills Steve’s favorite cup, the one that changes colors when cold liquids are poured into it. He gives it to Steve once he’s secured the sippy top, cautioning, “Both hands, Stevie.”

Steve takes it with both hands as Daddy says to and carries it out to the living room, where he sets it down next to him as soon as he’s settled on the carpet next to the sofa.

“Which one do you want to start?” Daddy asks.

Steve thinks for a moment and then points to the New York skyline, because he’s pretty sure they can get a whole building done before Daddy makes them go to bed. It’s already after nine, and when he’s little Daddy doesn’t let him stay up late. But at least he never has to go to sleep alone; Daddy stays with him even if he decides to read or play a game on his tablet for a while.

“How about we do the Chrysler Building tonight and leave the rest for tomorrow?”

Steve nods, and Daddy opens the box, but he lets Steve tear open the plastic bag with the Lego pieces inside and dump them onto the now-cleared coffee table. Half an hour later, the Chrysler Building stands tall (well, okay, it’s actually about six inches, but who’s counting?) and they admire it for a bit before Daddy says that it’s time to pick out a book and get ready for bed. Steve chooses _Where the Wild Things Are_ purely because he likes its cover with the big monster sitting under pink palm trees. It’s hard to make the “pick me up” gesture with the book tucked under one arm, but Daddy figures it out anyway and carries Steve into their bedroom.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, lovebug?”

“M’wet.” He’s honestly not sure when that had happened, exactly, just that it must have been sometime during Legos.

“I can tell.” Daddy laughs a little and kisses his cheek. “But thank you for letting me know. That was very good, Stevie.”

Steve can feel his ears getting hot at the compliment and ducks his head. Daddy sets him on the changing pad that he’d left out earlier, because Steve almost always needs a change before bed.

“What do you want to wear tonight? Cloth or disposable?”

Steve considers his options and then says, “Cloth.” He can sleep on his side without worrying about leaking that way.

“Airplanes or dinosaurs?”

Steve answers him with a roar that quickly dissolves into giggles.

“That settles that, then.”

Soon they’re all ready and settled in bed, Steve curled up against Daddy’s side and sucking on a pacifier, his special blanket at hand to rub the satin edging along his cheek while he listens. They wind up liking the book so much that Daddy reads it again without Steve even having to ask, complete with the same voices he’d used the first time. Steve almost requests a third round, but by the time he can come up with the words, Daddy’s already shut the book and put it down on the nightstand.

“I think it’s time to go to sleep, don’t you?” Daddy asks, but Steve knows it’s not a rhetorical question.

“Yuh-huh,” he says around his paci.

Daddy smiles fondly at that and gives him a long, squeezy hug. “It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?”

“_Real_ good, Daddy.”

“I’m glad, Stevie.” Daddy kisses his cheek again, not once but twice. “I’m going to turn off the light and we’re going to close our eyes now, okay?”

“’kay.”

The next morning, Bucky teases him for snoring until Steve throws a pillow at his head.

\--

Sam’s New Year’s Eve party is absolutely _hopping_. It’s sort of amazing, how many people the house will fit, even though it’s not terribly large. Almost all the Avengers are in attendance, along with their significant others, and Sam had apparently also invited just about every coworker at the VA that he’s ever had.

Steve and Bucky manage to make it to midnight without incident in spite of their slight case of hypervigilance, but after the countdown and cheering and toasting, they agree that leaving without hurting any feelings or incurring any questions is now viable. It takes them almost half an hour to actually make it out the front door what with all the goodbyes (“Bucky, the Irish exit is _not a thing_, and you’re not Irish anyway!”), but taxis are cruising the streets in abundance thanks to the holiday, and soon they’re sprawled in the backseat of a grey cab making its way toward Dupont Circle.

“That was fun,” Bucky says, slinging his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Too many people in one place, but fun.”

Steve leans into the touch, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“I’m glad we don’t have to do it again for awhile, though,” he admits.

“Yeah, same.” Steve nuzzles Bucky’s neck, making him laugh because he’s ticklish there.

“And we missed the fireworks,” Bucky points out.

“We did?”

“Yeah.”

They breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief at having been far enough over the Maryland state line at Sam’s to have avoided them. (Steve’s birthday has been rather ruined by the Independence Day display ever since he moved to Washington.) The rest of the ride home is relatively swift despite the heavy downtown traffic, which is good, because Steve’s yawning as they walk through the front door of their building.

Although Steve’s exhausted from socializing, he’s happy to curl up in bed with Bucky and cuddle for a while before they decide to turn in for the night; they talk about all the highlights of the previous year and the things they’d like to do over the next twelve months. Their goals are lofty, but since Steve is officially on leave until March, they can definitely achieve some of them very soon. The first goal, as a matter of fact, can be reached in the morning.

Steve and Bucky fall asleep in each other’s arms — the best possible way to ring in January 1, as far as Steve’s concerned, and he’s going to make damn sure he does it again next year.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky's fruitcake is the one that I make for the Christmas season, and it truly is a fruity, nutty, boozy wonder of a cake that quite literally lasts for months as long as you keep the cheesecloth moist with alcohol (I normally use red wine, but you can use brandy). Don't knock it 'til you try it! 
> 
> Also, yes, I did find the idea of Winifred Barnes having Fr. Mulcahy of M*A*S*H fame over for dinner with increasing frequency to be too funny to pass up adding in to this story.
> 
> Next up: It's too cold to stay put in DC, so he and Bucky head somewhere a great deal warmer and sunnier on their very first vacation together.


End file.
